Analysis of a Confidant
by Quixotic Cervantes
Summary: Kyouya considers everything he and Tamaki have been through when asked about their friendship.


** I don't own Ouran Host Club...I wish I owned the hosts though.**   
_asdf-thoughts_

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"Kyouya, can I talk to you for a minute?" Kyouya looked up from his notebook, irked to be taken away from his calculations, to see the blond-haired, violet-eyed president of the Host Club standing in front of him, a melancholy expression marring his usually happy demeanor.

"Tamaki? What is it?" He watched Tamaki nervously shift his weight between feet while his gaze averted to the ground.

"It's just…Kyouya…will we always be friends?" Kyouya, who had gone back to scribbling in his book, stopped writing as he looked back up, carefully hiding his shock and confusion as he met Tamaki's hopeful, questioning stare.

"Tamaki…what are you talking about?" He raised an eyebrow when the blond sighed in aggravation before mumbling a 'never mind.' Kyouya shrugged it off and returned to his work.

Five minutes has passed and Kyouya realized he wasn't accomplishing anything. Tamaki's sudden inquiry had roused too much suspicion in his mind. Sighing, he closed his notebook before standing. He glanced around the room in hopes of finding Tamaki. He smirked when he finally located the chipper skipper (it rhymes…it was funny ok?), doing a fine impression of a gargoyle that had been punished. Kyouya sauntered over to Tamaki and tapped his shoulder. Tamaki turned, eyes brightening when they registered who had disturbed his "emo time."

"Tamaki, why did you wonder if we would always be friends?" Tamaki's eyes quickly shifted to the floor as a very light, but noticeable, pink tint graced his face. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees before he spoke.

"I just…think back to all the things I've put you through and wonder why you keep putting up with me. I mean, it's not like we have much in common, I'm just worried that one day you will finally decide that I'm not worth your time…and that scares me." Kyouya barely heard the last few words Tamaki had said them so quietly. He felt something nagging in his heart and knelt to comfort his friend. He felt Tamaki stiffen as his arms wrapped around his shoulders, his breath fanning on his neck.

Kyouya thought back to the day they had first met, all those years ago. '_Tamaki was just an annoying otaku basically. Obsessed with Japanese culture and having everything it could offer even though he was raised in France.'_

He remembered Tamaki addressing him about the Host Club. '_What kind of person thinks so highly of himself and five classmates that he believes it's their duty to play host to the females in their school?'_

He considered the thoughtless things Tamaki was known for. '_He's always causing problems for me, making me have to adjust plans and budgets every step of the way.'_

Then Kyouya smiled as he remembered something his sister once told him. '_Kyouya, I've never seen you as happy as you have been lately. That Suou boy certainly has lifted your spirits.'_

With that in mind he gently began speaking.

"Tamaki, if I had deemed you unworthy of my friendship I wouldn't be here." Tamaki relaxed a bit in his hold, causing him to tighten his arms around him in assurance. Kyouya let his mind wander back to their Host Club adventures; he allowed his thoughts to be voiced.

"But you really do make a mess of things."

Kyouya instantly regretted his words as he felt Tamaki stiffen and begin to shift away. Kyouya released his hold on Tamaki and moved in front of him. He framed Tamaki's face with his hands, and pulled their faces close to each other. Guilt rushed through him at the defeated look in Tamaki's eyes.

"I didn't mean that." Tamaki looked away, the doubt radiating from him ate away at Kyouya's usually apathetic heart. "Tamaki look at me." When Tamaki refused, he lightly jerked his head, and waited until their eyes met. "Tamaki, you will always be worth my time. Because no one makes me happier than you do."

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**AN-I blame this on a blackout.**


End file.
